She let her eyes slide away from him. She was playing the game of her life, and it would never do to appear eager. “In chess, of course, my lord. I am frequently absent from the house, and would not wish to raise your hopes that I shall choose to be ruined, as you so charmingly offer.”
She turned and then glanced over her shoulder, caught sight of his white teeth—he was laughing—and slid into the crowd. So far she had been dancing rather indolently with whomever presented himself. But now she realized that in order to catch Villiers she must be the very top of the ton. The catch of the season. The most desired of all marriageable women.
He would have to win her over the hands of many men—or he would show no interest whatsoever.
Jemma’s brother appeared before her around an hour later. She had three young lords vying to offer her gingerbread wafers and champagne. In comparison to Villiers, they were easy to enchant. All three of them were giving her swooning looks, and judging from the sullen glances she’d had from young ladies, she was plucking chickens meant for someone else’s supper.
Damon cut her from the crowd adroitly, which she rather appreciated because it was good for her swains to see that she wasn’t theirs for the asking.
“Where are we going?” she asked. He nipped out of the ballroom and down a corridor that she hadn’t even known existed.
“To my sister’s sitting room,” he said, grinning down at her. “Back way.”
He pushed open a door and sure enough, there were the mustard yellow walls (minus Judith and her platter). But just as Roberta entered, she realized that the room was not unoccupied.
Directly before her, leaning over the arm of a chair, was a woman. All she could see was a creamy, rounded bottom because the lady’s violet skirts had been tossed over her head, undoubtedly so they wouldn’t be crushed. There was a gentleman there, of course, and he was—
He was doing her a service.
Roberta clapped a hand over her mouth and froze. Behind her, she heard Damon’s low chuckle.
Roberta just stared. It was almost violent and yet strangely intoxicating. The man was caressing his partner at the same time that he…well, he…The woman, whoever she was, was clearly enjoying herself, given the noise she was making. Roberta didn’t recognize the gentleman; he was rather tubby. But she couldn’t help noting that his thighs were strong, and he too was obviously most happy, and as she watched he shaped his partner’s bottom in his hands and pulled her higher and—
Damon’s arm came around her waist and pulled her silently backwards into the corridor. He was still laughing as he closed the door. Roberta didn’t feel in the least like laughing. She felt odd, as if all the air had been crushed out of her lungs.
Damon peered at her in the dim light of the corridor. “Shocked you to the bottom of your boots, I see. Come along then. We’ll go to the library; there’ll be no one there because it’s so damned hard to find.” He took her hand and pulled her along through a corridor and a turn, and finally through a door.
It was a monstrously big library, all lined with books and hung in somber crimson velvet.
Roberta walked forward feeling slightly unsteady on her legs. There was a sofa before the fire, and Damon pushed her into it. “A brandy, that’s what you need,” he said, going over to the sideboard.
He tumbled a few glasses about and said, over his shoulder, “I take it that was the first tupping you were ever witness to?”
Roberta opened her mouth but no sound came out.
“Poleaxed,” he said cheerfully, coming back and handing her a glass. “Drink that.”
Roberta took a fiery swallow and coughed. “What is it?”